


Shots

by flawlessassholes



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, Origin Story, Pre-Season/Series 01, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawlessassholes/pseuds/flawlessassholes
Summary: “No living thing has seen me since I swore the creed.”When a foundling is eighteen standard, they must choose. Life in the way, or out. To swear the creed. To don the beskar helm. Din Djarin chooses the way. His best friend does not.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Shots

____I’m sorry for everything, oh everything I’ve done  
_ From the second that I was born, it seems I had a loaded gun  
_ __ And then I shot, shot, shot a hole through everything I loved

\---

“Good, Din,” the instructor said, inspecting the blaster-riddled target through her beskar helmet. It was a rare compliment, and Din reset his shoulders, his chest rising with pride. “You are dismissed.”

Din nodded. The instructor turned on her heel towards the half-dozen other foundlings training in the Clan’s fighting corps. “Again,” she said, and Din watched for another moment as the other foundlings aimed and fired their blasters, before he turned away, to leave for the mess. He would eat before he returned to the foundling bunks for the evening.

Dinner was a simple, muted affair as it usually was these days. Much of the clan’s fighters were off, protecting their ways. Din resented eating with the elders, the children, the other, younger foundlings. The unhelmed. The unadorned.

He wanted to be useful— he was itching to prove himself worthy of his beskar, to show the leaders of the clan that they hadn’t made a mistake all those years ago when they took him in. The anniversary of that day, his coming of age was only days away, and then Din would join the others in battle and prove himself. He itched for it, a constant thrumming under his skin. It was so close, yet constantly so far away.

Patience. He needed to mind himself and practice patience. It was a necessity, and he would master it. He was frustrated that he hadn’t yet.

He finished his stew and quickly pulled his training helmet back over his unruly brown hair. Night had fallen, and Din returned to the foundling’s bunks shortly thereafter.

It was a dark bunker underneath the hard-packed earth of the clan’s outpost. His eyes adjusted slowly to the cool, dark air of the bunks. His was a training helmet, made not of beskar, but durasteel. When he came of age and swore the creed, the armorer would present him with his helmet. Then, filled with technology and sensors, he wouldn’t have to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Then, he would be a true Mandalorian.

This was the way.

Din sat on his bunk, little more than a cot with a trunk underneath for his scarce belongings— change of clothes, his kute, training armor, and the like. As was the way for foundlings, his training blaster was returned to the weaponry at the end of the day’s lessons.

He removed his helmet and took his kit with him to the showers. He washed efficiently and without haste. There were no mirrors in the bunks— this was the way— but after every shower, Din quickly examined his jawline for hair. None had grown yet, and he was nearly eighteen standard. Another frustration— he was still a boy.

There was a crash from the doorway. Din looked up as Tema, the only foundling his age, stumbled through the door of the showers. Tema eyed Din, before stumbling towards the toilets. Din watched with wary eyes as Tema vomited, his back hunched, his tunic stained with something.

“You weren’t in lessons today. Or yesterday. Or the day before.” Din said, shortly.

Tema sat back on his knees, wiping at his mouth. He had black scruff there, prominent against the boy’s milk-white skin. His grin was brilliant when he smiled. “I told you, I was taking my Ade’Ba’Salanar.”

Din rolled his eyes, packing his kit. It was an opportunity every  _ Ade _ got, whether foundling or not. It was an opportunity to choose— life in the Way or out. An experience of a world outside their culture and rituals and people.

Din has refused the opportunity. It was unnecessary for him. But Tema was taken as a foundling even younger than Din; it was-- it was understandable. Din knew Tema well, almost as well as he knew himself. He was confident Tema would choose the Way and swear the Creed. If not--

It hurt to think about. It wasn’t shameful, to not swear the Creed. The Way was not for everyone; that was what made the Mandalorians honorable, admirable. A people. But if a Foundling-- or even a Mandalorian-born child-- chose otherwise, it meant-- immediate and total ex-communication. It meant losing everyone, and everything one knew. It meant never being able to repay your elders for what they gave to you. 

“Ey, Djarin, you okay?” 

Din looked up from the sink, his eyes meeting Tema’s. The other boy was standing now, a wet cloth in his hands. “I’m fine,” He said. 

“Big speech, always,” Tema said with that grin that seemed so permanent on his face. “Look, tomorrow, come with me.” 

“Leave the compound?” Din blinked. He, of course, had left the small compound where he was taken when he was rescued by the Death Watch all those years ago. It was required, for survival lessons, for supply runs. But to leave without an instructor, to leave without permission-- 

Tema scoffed. “Oh, don’t look like that. Sn’ot big deal, you know? I’m still on leave, ey? We go tomorrow, you say supply run, I leave because of Ade’Ba’Salanar. Fun.” 

Din remembered when he met Tema for the first time. He was shaking and hadn’t stopped since the Death Watch’s ship landed. He had clutched to his savior’s  _ beskar _ , even though it was smooth, cold silver, and there was nothing for the boy to hold onto. He was presented to the elders, given food and warmer clothing, and then eventually, when his eyes were heavy and his shoulders drooping and his body bone-tired, he was taken to the foundling bunks. 

Sitting in the bed next to what would become his was a boy his age if a little older. He had dark hair and dark eyes just like Din, even if his skin was shades paler than Din’s tanned skin. He had an accent-- Din would come to learn he was affecting one of the local people-- even though he wasn’t born here. 

“He was brought when he was just a baby,” His Mandalorian said. “He can help you, show you around, right, T?”

Tema had nodded enthusiastically-- he always was so enthusiastic. 

“Hell,” the Mandalorian said. “You two could be brothers.” Then, he left, and Tema kept Din up half the night telling him everything and anything about the Mandalorians, with open awe in his voice. He assured Din that he would be safe here, well cared for, here. The Mandalorians were the  _ best. _

Oh, how Din believed him. 

People often thought over the years that they were brothers, even when Tema shot up a foot overnight and started growing hair everywhere that Din couldn’t. They were always together-- in lessons, eating, practicing, racing, wrestling. They were one word on the compound,  _ DinandTema _ . 

They were best friends. They were brothers. Until-- Except-- 

It happened a few years ago, and then maybe every single night since. The same dream. They were older because they were always helmed. In the middle of a starlit desert night, lying on the ground on bivouac packs. Tema would lift his helmet and then lift Din’s. This was not the way, but for your partner, your  _ brother _ \-- maybe it was okay-- and then he would lean in and  _ kiss  _ Din, and then their beskar would disappear and  _ oh--  _

“Din, you good? You so--” Din was interrupted by Tema’s impression of himself. Wide-eyed, slack-jawed. Mouth open in surprise. An idiot who couldn’t control his emotions. 

“I’m fine,” Din said once more. Without another look at Tema, he left the refresher, placing his kit next to his bed before sitting down heavily. 

As always, Tema sat down across from Din in his bed, his eyes so open and curious as he looked at Din. “Yeesh, D,” He said softly. 

“Tema,” He said, suddenly panicked. He couldn’t look the other boy in the eyes. “Next week, you-- you’re gonna-- you’ll--” He couldn’t say it. Din knew he would, but he desperately craved that assurance.  _ Please tell me you’ll stand by my side and swear the Creed next week. I want you to be the last. The last one to see me.  _

Tema bit at his thumb. “Come with me tomorrow, ey? I want you to see something.” 

Din shut his eyes. He knew he would never say no to Tema. Not when Din wanted the same love he gave Tema returned. “Okay, T. We’ll go.” 

\--- 

They left just after midday. Tema said something about a speeder, and Din wondered just how far away from the compound they were going. How far could Tema have explored in just a few days? 

Din sat behind Tema on the speeder, his arms at his sides until Tema took a too-sharp turn, his laugh all bright. Din clutched Tema’s waist in surprise, and then-- it was easy to leave them there, feeling the fabric of Tema’s kute beneath his hand. 

The compound disappeared into the horizon behind them, and they went around the nearby town entirely. Soon, there was nothing but desert. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, they entered into a smaller farming village Din hadn’t known existed. 

Tema was unusually quiet when parked the speeder outside of a small cabin. 

“Where are we?” Din said, his eyes glancing around.

“Just wait,” Tema said. Ahead of them, the front door of the cabin cracked slightly, then opened fully. A pretty girl with dark skin and braided hair appeared, running full-force towards them. She smiled, then grinned, as she threw herself into Tema’s arms. And Tema-- Tema hugged her back. 

Din wondered what in the stars was happening. 

“You must be Din!” The girl pulled away finally. “Tema told me all, everything about you!” 

“Uh,” Din said. He was staring at the girl’s abdomen. She was their age, maybe a little older, and there was a noticeable swell there. He looked up at the girl, then to Tema, who was suddenly by her side. 

“D,” Tema said. He was grinning-- he was  _ radiant.  _ “This is Soz.” 

“Sosana,” She said, extending her hand. Din watched it dumbly and didn’t take it. After a moment, she pulled her hand away. 

“D,” Tema said, pulling Sosana into a tight hug from behind. His pale hands came to rest on her belly like he had done that a million times before. “Sosana-- Sosana is my wife.” 

Din looked up sharply, his eyes wide. He physically recoiled, taking a step back. “ _ What _ .” 

“We meet maybe a year ago? In town? I just-- I say, she’s the most beautiful. The  _ most.  _ I come to see her every few days, and now--”

“How?” Din said. His voice was too high. It sounded far away, distant. “ _ How?”  _

Tema blinked. “What? What? I-- I come here. I sneak away. You know this?” 

“I thought to go to the cantina!” Not to come to meet some pregnant sweetheart. Not to-- 

Din took another step back. “You aren’t swearing the creed.” 

It wasn’t a question, and Tema seemed to know this. He took a careful step forward, his arms falling away from Sosana. “Din--” 

“I have to go,” Din said. He turned sharply on one heel. 

“There’s more to life than the Creed, Din,” Tema called from behind. “There's they don’t want you to know. There’s so much you don’t know, ey?” 

Din turned around. He looked in Tema’s eyes. “ _ Huu’tun _ .” He spat.  _ Coward. _

With that, he took the speeder and headed back towards town. 

\---

He saw the smoke from the horizon, even before the compound came into view. He tried to go faster, but the speeder was already pushed to its limit. 

He came upon Mandalorians packing ships, fires blazing. Someone took him by the cuff of his tunic. “Djarin.” 

Din turned to see the Armorer. “We need to go,” the Armorer said. “There is a tribe on Navarro. We are to join them. The elders are waiting on the first ship. You are to swear the Creed tonight if you so choose. We need every capable foundling helmed.” 

Din stared at her, into the black glass of her helmet. “I can’t-- I’m not-- I’m not ready--” 

“Din Djarin,” she said, her voice deep and ominous through the helmet’s feedback. “You are prepared. Do you choose to swear the creed?” 

“I-- yes.” 

“This is the way,” She said with a curt nod. “Come.” 

Later, much later, he would be grateful he swore the Creed that evening. No one could see his tears behind his helmet. No one ever would. Now, he could only nod, his voice lost to the sound of screams and explosions in the compound.

And so he went. This is the way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow so this is my first fanfic for Star Wars ever, so be VERY gentle. I was inspired by the Amish tradition of Rumspringa. The Mando'a is thrown around wildly in this fic, so thank you mandoa.org. Ade'Ba'Salanar is a word made up by me, combining "Child" and "Leave/Exit." Title and quote are from Shots by Imagine Dragons. Follow me on tumblr @flawlessassholes! There may be a part two to this.


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